


03: Bloodflood - Alt-J

by thestarsjustblinkforus



Series: Unrequited [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsjustblinkforus/pseuds/thestarsjustblinkforus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I like it when you yell at me...” he whispers, his eyes still closed and Enjolras doesn’t know what to say to that except, “You’re drunk, Grantaire,” because nothing like stating the obvious when you’re completely at a loss and your head is spinning and you’ve got a furnace in your arms close enough to burn...</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	03: Bloodflood - Alt-J

He hasn’t slept. 

Which isn’t that unusual.

Sleep isn’t really something he does with anything approaching regularity anyway.

But the why is...

The why is not usual.

The why is the ember of desire that flickered to life in front of the Corinth at 2am when Grantaire stumbled against him, his breath ghosting at his throat (and just the half second of his mouth there, hot against his skin...). The why is the memory of Grantaire stretched naked beneath him, his skin glowing in the dark like a sea anemone not half an hour later. 

The why is realizing how their bodies could fit and suddenly wanting it when he has never wanted anything of the sort before, let alone from _Grantaire_ who is mouthy and infuriating and messy and obnoxious...

And he doesn’t like Grantaire.

He doesn’t.

He’s been nothing but a pain in his ass since the day they met and if it weren’t for Combeferre, pointing out that an opposing voice is an excellent way for him to hone his debating skills and to learn how to handle hecklers, he would have asked him to leave ages ago. _Would have physically picked him up and tossed him out the Musain_ ages ago.

But lately he’s been trying, and Enjolras has been told by several of the Amis that the correct response to this sudden desire is to cut him some slack, or, in Courf’s word’s _“try and be a little nicer for fuckssake. I love you, Enjy, but **Jesus**...”_

So that’s why when he found him kneeling on the sidewalk in front of the Corinth staring up at the moon, his hand wrapped loosely around a bottle resting between his thighs in the most obscene way possible, he didn’t ignore him. Why he didn’t continue on his way into the bar to drop off Combeferre’s library keys, assure him that yes, as per their agreement for letting him work there after hours he will indeed get at _least_ six hours of sleep, and then head home and attempt to do just _that_. 

It’s why he called out his name as he approached in a tone he hoped was friendly. 

Grantaire had blinked up at him, uncomprehending for a moment, like he didn’t recognize him, before answering, softly, apologetically,

_“I’m... I’m a bit of a mess...”_

He had thought to himself, _what else is new_ , but he didn’t say it, he didn’t say it out loud but it was like Grantaire had heard it anyway.

A small sad smile had flitted across his lips, his lashes dark against his cheeks as he lowered his eyes, bowed his head, and it made something tug deep in his chest and he didn’t know why, he _doesn’t_ know why...

_“Admit it, Apollo...”_

_“Don’t call me that. Admit what?”_

_“You hate me...”_

_“I... don’t.”_

_“But you do though. You haaaaaaaate me.”_

_“Grantaire.”_

_“What?”_

_“I don’t hate you.”_

_Grantaire looks down at his hands still wrapped around the neck of the bottle resting between his legs, taps his fingernails lightly against the glass once, twice, with an unconvinced, “Hmm,” and he’s intensely uncomfortable. He’s not in the habit of dealing with Grantaire alone. He’s actively avoided it and the only reason he hasn’t said, “Ok, bye then” and continued on inside is that he can almost hear Jehan chanting in his head **don’t be a dick, don’t be a dick, don’t be a dick.**_

_So he takes a deep breath._

_“Did something happen today?”_

_“Same thing that happens every day...”_

_“And what’s that?”_

_“Nothing.”_

_He giggles, lifts the more than half empty vodka bottle to his lips, and Enjolras snatches it away before he can stop himself. He sets it on top of a garbage can, out of his reach, and Grantaire pouts up at him with a tired, “Hey...”_

_He feels his patience starting to wane, his temper starting to rise..._

_And now Courf is fucking harmonizing with Jehan: **Don’t be a dick, don’t be a dick, don’t be a dick....**_

_“That was mine...”_

_“I’m fairly certain you stole it from behind the bar when Hucheloupe wasn’t looking.”_

_“It could have been mine...” He corrects himself and gets awkwardly to his feet._

_He sways once and stumbles back with a hand rising to his head like he’s trying to keep it from falling off, and again, before Enjolras can stop himself, he reaches out, he catches him by the t-shirt to keep him upright. Grantaire falls against him, utterly boneless, and his whole body lights up at the sudden contact, very aware of the fact that they are touching because they don’t do that, they haven’t done that ever. He doesn't do that. Ever._

(And now he’s thinking about touching, he’s thinking about touching Grantaire’s bare skin, being granted free reign over it and he can’t seem to help but begin to unbutton his own shirt now, still disheveled from Grantaire’s insistent fingers...)

_He swallows, suddenly feeling too warm, and murmurs “steady, steady” somewhat distractedly as Grantaire’s forehead rests briefly in the curve where his neck meet his shoulder, his open mouth at his collarbone-_

_The feeling of it barely registers before Grantaire lurches back like he’s been burned and he catches his elbow with one hand, grips his bicep with the other all, **“I’ve got you”** and **“hold on to me”** as he tries to draw him back because **he’ll fall, he’ll hurt himself...**_

(But if he’s being honest with himself, and really, at this point where his hands are skating down the naked slope of his belly and his fingers are flicking open the button of his jeans he might as well be honest, he had liked his mouth there. He had liked him close like that and he had wanted him back. He didn’t question the why of it then like he’s been doing for the last two hours. He just followed the impulse like he thinks anyone else would have followed the impulse, like right now he’s following the impulse and )

_Grantaire’s hands find his shirt in response, fisting the material for purchase, pulling it from where it’s been tucked and once they’re both stable on their feet they look down between them at the cats cradle they’ve made of their arms, their clothing, their foreheads almost touching they’re so close and Enjolras is now very aware of his heartbeat, the pulse of his blood along with where they touch and where they don’t and it’s confusing to say the least and he’s blushing, he can feel that he’s blushing and he doesn’t even like Grantaire, he doesn’t, he’s just trying to be kind because Jehan has begged him to be kind and also Grantaire is emanating heat like a furnace and it’s too cold for summer and it feels nice, it feels good and Grantaire’s voice is quiet and low when he says,_

_“You weren’ here...”_

_“I was working...”_

_“Yeah...”_

(This is the sound of his zipper slowly being pulled down.)

_“Did I miss anything good?”_

(This is him touching himself.)

_Grantaire nods and starts to sink and Enjolras holds him up, he backs him against the wall of the Corinth to lean now because his arms are getting tired, and their stomachs, their pelvis’s press briefly together before Enjolras draws back slightly, but Grantaire follows the movement like a magnet trying to connect again._

_“Grantaire...”_

_His eyes are slits and his head is starting to loll to the side and Enjolras uses all his strength to jostle him, still half holding him upright because if he passes out here there’s no getting him home tonight..._

_He says, “C’mon, tell me what I missed...”_

_His head tilts back to look up at him, his knees bent between Enjolras’s legs now and his eyes glitter in the dark, he wets his lips with his tongue and Enjolras looks at them as he sighs, “Spin th’ bottle...”_

_“Let me guess - Courf’s idea?”_

_He nods, he murmurs, “I kissed everyone...” His eyes drift shut and he bites his lower lip that Enjolras still can’t tear his eyes from, “You gonna yell at me?”_

_“Because you kissed everyone? That’s... none of my busine-”_

_“I like it when you yell at me...” he whispers, his eyes still closed and Enjolras doesn’t know what to say to that except, “You’re drunk, Grantaire,” because nothing like stating the obvious when you’re completely at a loss and your head is spinning and you’ve got a furnace in your arms close enough to burn..._

_“So?”_

_“.... So where do you live?”_

_He gestures loosely with his whole arm down the street and then his hand returns to Enjolras’s shirt, but the collar now and he pulls it aside, accidentally unbuttoning it as he does and his eyes are fixed there for a moment looking at his exposed skin and he lets go of the fabric to trace the tattoo there with this index finger, but not touching. Almost, but no._

_The corner of his mouth shifts upwards in a half-smile and when he looks up at him his face is very close and Enjolras shifts his hold trying to get him more fully on his feet and he’s still blushing, he can still feel himself blushing as they press against each other again and he murmurs against Grantaire’s lips that are practically touching his, “I should take you-”_

_“Yes, God, **please**...”_

_“-home.”_

And he did. He took Grantaire home which turned out to be just down the block, his body leaning heavily against him the whole way. 

They got to the front door of the dilapidated three flat and Grantaire had laughed and squirmed as Enjolras dug through his pockets for his keys and when he asked him what floor he was on thinking _please please please let it be the first_ , he had simply pointed “up” with his index finger.  
 _  
“How up?”_

 _“Up up.”_  
  
Once they had finally made it up the three fucking flights of rickety stairs and into the bedroom Grantaire had immediately pulled his t-shirt off over his head with a twist of his torso, a bunch and release of the muscles in his back that Enjolras could not seem to look away from. He shoved his pants off his hips, and they fell, pooling at his ankles, and Enjolras, _again_ , had reached out because the idiot was going to _trip_ and then there was the crash of the blinds, the rip of the makeshift curtain and Grantaire’s hand wrapping around Enjolras’s wrist, pulling him down onto the bed with him and  
  
 _He stays there for a moment hovering over him and panting slightly their noses almost touching until he leans back a little. Grantaire looks up at him with lips parted, eyes wide as they trace the contours of his face in the dark. He murmurs, “How are you even real...” and Enjolras is still goddamn blushing as he mumbles, “shut up...” before trying to get up but Grantaire, his body still a magnet, tries to follow._

_He gently pushes him back down onto the bed again with a firm, “No. Stay” and is thoroughly unprepared for the thrill that runs through him when Grantaire listens. For once, actually **listens.**_

And then there was the shock of Grantaire’s warm skin beneath his palms, his heart beating hard under his hand, the line of his exposed throat and the sudden want of running his tongue down the column of it as he threw his head back breathing hard like he is breathing hard now remembering how hard they both were, how he felt it against him and then _saw_ just how - 

“God... god...”  


 _He lets his fingers trace a path down Grantaire’s chest that rises and falls quickly, a light shudder, a shift of his hips between his legs as he follows a paint streak that begins at the top of his ribcage and continues down, down, and then suddenly a roll of those hips brings him flush against him for a moment and then Grantaire’s underwear is sliding away with a clumsy push of hands and yes, confirmed, Grantaire paints in the nude. He doesn’t let his fingers follow the now uninterrupted path of paint the rest of the way down his thigh though because Grantaire’s fingers are plucking at his shirt now, his buttons, murmuring **open, please** , and his hips are still **moving** and he’s finding it hard to breathe and he catches his wrists, he presses them down on the mattress above his head to make him **stop** because he needs a **second** and Grantaire makes this sound this **sound** like **mmph** and it’s soft and a heavy exhale of breath follows it and he hovers over him, wanting to sink down, wanting to cover every inch of him.... But he doesn’t, he leans back because this is this is this is..._

He’s breathing hard now, his back arching off his own bed the way Grantaire’s had arched off the bed when he had lightly scratched his fingernails down his wrists, his forearms as he sat up and Grantaire had made that sound again when he did, that sound, and Enjolras lets himself be back there on top of him, straddling him, _feeling_ him beneath him and the paint streak, and the bare skin and the gently thrusting hips... 

And Grantaire suddenly pressing a condom to his chest, murmuring _please_ murmuring _any way you want me... I want... I want..._

_I want, I want..._  
  
And he had torn it open with his _teeth_ , his hand had gone to his jeans, his knuckles brushing Grantaire’s length on the way, the heat of him nearly searing his skin and an absolutely pornographic moan from Grantaire at even that lightest touch and he stopped then, he stopped because this was this was this was... 

He comes with an explosion of breath one hand clasped over his eyes as his hips come to a shuddering stop, his shoulders falling back against the bed and he swallows, he breathes hard and he thinks... 

_Fuck..._

He murmurs into the quiet darkness of 5am, “ _fuck_ ”, and the birds are starting, the sun is starting, something is _starting_... 

**Author's Note:**

> Track 03: Bloodflood - Alt-J : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j_N2eWcP4uc


End file.
